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Anais Vionet Dec 4
Our land of stars and stripes, now glows,
with screens that flicker in hallowed halls.
Entranced humans shuffle, with eyes fixed below,
on small gadgets that have us enthralled.

Should the Statue of Liberty, our symbolic girl,
be holding a smartphone up to the world?
While tweets fly like eagles and hashtags swirl,
foreign disinformation trends as fast as it’s purled.

In lunch halls, real conversations take rest,
as influence is sought—in hoity-toity, binary quest.
Friends are backdrops—originality in short supply
as likes and shares make our dopamine fly.

America’s zombies, though ******* drained,
shuffle endlessly on, with Wi-Fi stimulated brains.
Once the land of the free, we’re now the land of tech
with minds wrecked by truths unchecked.

As we rock and sway—the new robot way—
will our old, analog-republic simply fade away?
.
.
Songs for this:
Airhead by Thomas Dolby
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_01.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/04/24:
hoity-toity = snooty or pretentious
Erwinism Dec 2
some of the best recollections i curated is that of chaos.

i know you hate it, so i will make you remember.

how you lolled your tongue at the sight of garlic in your porridge when we’ve got nothing else to eat on a rainy day.

bowls of getting by squeezed out of tired pores, crated palms with puddles of a won day, same palms like coveted napkins on the lap of the rich wiping the long breath of hopelessness from your cheeks.

reed-thin body,
bones as if wafers,
yet we sprung forward.
not a care as we watched
the jowly cheeks of wanting
puff up.

how hand-me-down yesterdays were worn—a tradition tied around a last name like All Souls’ Day candles. they peer from behind the stars, thoughts of them sparkle, they are reminded of fights, they are reminded why they left in the first place, just in case boredom pays them a visit.

i’ve come to know, the most practical way to get a golden ticket to the land of happiness is to have it handy in my heart.

but you locked it up in a gilded cage and you chased a star not knowing it’s a sunset and it just kept dipping into peaks jutting out of nowhere, you had worn out your heels and you were left with nothing but midnight instead of holding on to your blanket and watch a new day spill out of the sky.

you were insane that way.

remember the shame how magic belts turned us red and purple and upright, and how we were the grinch who stole baby Jesus away from his nativity set and got caught and were taught grownups pick on kids who didn’t know better?

remember how mathematics predetermined our future as undisputed champs of failure courtesy of our clairvoyant aunts?

it mattered little—
inconsequential, so to speak.
we heaved our arms,
hoisted our dreams
onto our scrawny frames.
our bulging chests
were enough
for us to beat,
like bongos,
we fanned the flames
until they voices
throughout the milky way.
our mother
in her innocence believed
we were capable
of many a great things
between the better parts
of her mood swings.

we were mirrors more than we were humans portioned in parts bitter and beauty, we rummaged through every chance hoping we could unearth change, but we never did until it was too late.

yet, i always had your hand in mine. we dropped out of the line and strayed away from paths stamped with footprints of approval and wandered on roads no one can see but our hearts knew.

remember the day you let go so you could hold bottles thinking they were looking glasses, thinking they fermented clarity aged in oak barrels, and day after day you took a drop until you had an ocean dissolving you?

remember how i found real estate in the promises of a girl, how i grew a house there, but then, time mistook her for dorothy and blew her away like a tumble **** into the arms of another boy?

how i bawled out and how you had a ball at my expense, laughing at my silence at open mic night?

remember when we heard a drop of a needle the size of the moon hurtling down the earth when father sat up on his bed for the last time with his eyes open as if he saw an unseen door somewhere. somehow, we heard him skittering away while he left us a fertilizer for everyone to cry about?

remember how we forgot. we dreamt under the same roof before our feet carried us away.

into the mist went we,
threads began to fray,
we forgot.

i will make you remember,
before all that i am unravels.
Social Media Iceberg
the iceberg’s fleeting gleam,
A glimpse of truth, buried in the stream.
Do you feel the furnace, the stifling weight,
Of masks we wear, concealing fate?

A flood of thoughts, suffocating and grim,
Killing the voice that once burned within.
A lifetime of hurt, sincerity drowned,
In the chilling silence where echoes resound
Sara Barrett Nov 15
In the glow of screens,
we gathered,
Farmville requests from aunts,
a world of laughter,
simple joys shared like sunlight,
photos blooming like flowers,
each snapshot a moment held close.
But shadows crept in,
voices grew louder,
arguments ignited in the digital crowd,
once a haven for stories and cheer,
now a battleground,
where fear and anger drown out connection.
Oh, to step back,
to mute the noise,
to cherish the small moments,
to find joy in simplicity.
Can we learn to listen?
To hold our space with care?
To share our truths without fear of judgment?
Imagine a world where we pause,
where empathy reigns and understanding flows.
Let’s reclaim the joy of a simple post,
the warmth of shared memories,
the bonds that matter most.
If we could remember how to talk again—
to share our lives without the weight of expectation,
to celebrate each other’s stories as our own.
Maybe then we can find our way back,
to laughter and support,
to kindness woven through our words.
And maybe one day,
we will step into that light again—
not as warriors in an endless fight,
but as friends seeking connection,
hearts open to the beauty of being together.
This poem, “Rekindling Connection in the Age of Social Media,” reflects on the dual nature of digital communication. It captures the initial joy of shared experiences through social media, contrasting it with the growing discord and disconnection that often arises in online interactions. The poem calls for a return to genuine connection, emphasizing the importance of empathy and understanding. It invites readers to cherish simple moments and celebrate each other’s stories, ultimately envisioning a world where kindness prevails over conflict. This poignant exploration resonates with anyone navigating relationships in a digitally dominated landscape.
Let's talk about those
BOTS!!
Now Shall We???
They are really doing
the most;
Do you Agree???
They be doing things
that you
JUST WON'T BELIEVE!!
Asking for MONEY,
and TRYING TO SCHEME!!!
They send
FRIEND REQUEST, and
hack your PROFILE,
pretending to be you,
TRY TO LOG IN,
GET LOCKED OUT
You change your
PASSWORD, and
then get back in,
a few months later
HERE WE GO AGAIN!!
They portray your FRIENDS,
and you know they are not,
TAKE HEED to what they do,
Chances are
IT'S A BOT!!
between the SCAMMERS,
the HACKERS,
and these BOTS!!
CYBERBULLYING!!
is another one,
WE go through A LOT,
THEY'RE Just getting STARTED,
So you better BEWARE!!
The WEB is so DANGEROUS;
so PROCEED WITH CARE!!!


B.R.
Date: 04/12/2023
MetaVerse Sep 18
Lyin' Joseph Robinette Biden
Is hidin'
From the press
Who couldn't care less.
Speak truth to power,
And don't dismiss the facts.
Why insipidly focus on polls
Like the failing Times,
The Murdochian lies
And the Hedge Fund huskers
Do.
CNN is rudderless.
The media is fascist,
Bending facts to fit the frame.
There is no Venn Diagram
For comfirmative circles.
Don't treat the true and the false,
The outrageous and the normal
As glossed over good people on both sides.
The sides are not equally valid
Because the Post opines it so.
Inspired by reading the news.
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